


The Space In Between

by takenbynumbers



Series: We Are Chaos [2]
Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:34:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27668948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takenbynumbers/pseuds/takenbynumbers
Summary: Pre-BC. Vincent and Veld kill time in between missions.
Relationships: Vincent Valentine/Veld
Series: We Are Chaos [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2007004
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	The Space In Between

Vincent lays with his head on Veld’s lap, legs strewn haphazardly over the arm of the couch. It’s comfortable enough, if a bit boring, and he touches Veld’s arm draped over his chest. Long, pale fingers dance lightly over the hairs of his forearm, noting the contrast (not for the time) between his pale pallor and Veld’s tan skin.

It’s nice. It’s…incongruous. Which is what they are. Vincent tilts his head back, gets a look at the underside of Veld’s chin, tilted towards the book he’s reading. The music playing is something jazzy – modern enough that Veld had scoffed when he first heard it but still he bought a copy of the record. Vincent suspects he only plays it when he’s over, as they had heard it together while on a mission.

“I can hear you thinkin’,” Veld murmurs, his free hand clasping Vincent’s, fingers intertwining. It brings a smile to Vincent’s face and he closes his eyes.

“It’s not all bad things, you know.”

“Says you.” The body under his head moves, and Vincent finds himself lying prone on the couch, and his eyebrow arches questioningly. He still doesn’t open his eyes, so he’s pleasantly surprised when Veld kisses him. It’s lazy, like their evening, and he moans when Veld bites his lower lip gently. Vincent opens his eyes when Veld’s hands curl in his hair, turning his head. He sees Veld kneeling next to the couch, a wicked grin on his face.

“Now I can hear _you_ thinking.”

Veld just chuckles, letting go of him. He stands, stretching his arms above his head, and Vincent admires the flex of his biceps through his now-wrinkled white shirt. His gaze lowers as Veld starts to unbuckle his belt, pulling it out through the loops slowly, that smile still on his face.

“A show? You haven’t even bought me dinner. I’ve bought all our dinners so far,” Vincent points out, managing to sit up and roll off the couch quickly as Veld flicks his belt in his general direction.

“Get back here and let me blow you already.”

That piques Vincent’s interests, and he crouches, looking up at Veld, unable to resist further teasing. “Who says I’ll let you?”

  
“Says _me_.”

Vincent laughs quietly as Veld grabs him by the wrist, dragging him to the bedroom. He doesn’t miss the way Veld quickly reaches over to the bedside table, placing the photo frame face down. His reflexes are that of a Turk, but his judgement is not. And it clenches tight in his chest, forcing him to try and reassess what he’s doing, but he knows he will fail. Every time. His weakness is the loneliness in between these rendezvous, and he is not strong enough to accept his place in such a desolate headspace.

His pants are pulled off quickly, Veld settling between his knees on the floor and wrapping his rough, calloused fingers around Vincent’s cock, stroking slowly. He curls his fingers in Veld’s sandy brown hair, strands slipping through as he tugs gently, urging for more. It’s granted in the form of wet suction, sliding up and down tantalising, tongue laving around the head.

Vincent groans low in his throat, curling in on himself as Veld uses one hand to tug and roll his balls, and he spreads his legs further, an open invitation for more.

(Veld has never taken him like that. He seems content in pushing Vincent over the edge with his mouth, a hand, whatever they have time for. And it frustrates him, knowing there could be _more_.)

On edge, his body tenses and Veld pulls off with a wet-sounding _pop_ to use his hand – twisting up and over, thumb rubbing over the slit of the head. Vincent’s orgasm hits him hard as he spills over Veld’s hand, his own hands grasping Veld’s shoulders. His hand slows, milking him until Vincent’s thighs start to shake, and he laughs, breathlessly, shoving Veld away.

Falling back on the bed, leg still shaking, he watches as Veld leaves the room, presumably to clean his hand. Just another part of their routine. He returns, as Vincent’s heart stops racing, and his mind starts up again. Veld just watches him from the doorway for a moment before approaching and cups his face. Veld’s hand is still a little damp, but he doesn’t pull away. Just leans into it and hates himself a little more for the kiss that follows.

**Author's Note:**

> fleet me on twitter: takenbynumbers


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